


Tightrope

by Aconitine



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconitine/pseuds/Aconitine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay… this looks bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tightrope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverAnon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverAnon/gifts).



> So this was supposed to be a prize fic for EverAnon catching the Dante's Inferno allusions in Burn the Forest, but it got buried under other files and I never finished it until now because I'm an awful person like that.

 

_Okay…_

One of the most prominent memories from his childhood is laying sprawled on the ground, staring up at the high wire while blood spread millimeter by millimeter from the deep gash across his shoulder blades, as though he were an angel with its wings cut off.

Heh.

That's almost poetic.

It fits, in a way, because that was the day he'd been disillusioned. Barney'd promised him a fresh start when they'd ran away from the orphanage to join the “Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders.” Sure, they'd just been unskilled hands doing the less than fun bits that the performers wouldn't (which was saying something), but at least they weren't being bossed around by the matron and being told to stop fighting and “act like civilized men.” Yeah, like it was their fault their dad was an ass. After all the crap they'd gone through, the circus was a light at the end of a really dank tunnel.

When the Swordsman had taken him in as an assistant and apprentice? That wasn't just light, it was a personal gift from whatever god was listening.

Between him and Trick Shot, he'd learned everything he could dream of and more. He didn't just have to be some kid roustabout anymore, he could _perform._ And he did, and it was _awesome._

But then he'd caught the Swordsman in the act and found out what a big futzing con the whole thing was. All that trying to be a good kid got him was being shoved off the high wire and left to die by his mentor and his brother.

So, for obvious reasons, he's not that fond of tightropes. Not that he's scared, or can't do it, but they totally suck ass and this is definitely not how he wanted his evening to go. So much for spending the evening on a date with the DVR to catch up on _Dog Cops._

Nope.

Instead he's balanced on a telephone wire (that's a lot looser than any decent one would be, naturally) above Midtown playing chicken with Captain America, twenty-seven seconds before the world goes to hell.

_…this looks bad._

*.*.*

_“You been to the Tower since you got back from Lithuania?”_

“Umm…”

 _“Clint.”_ Her voice may be a bit distorted by the crappy cell reception out here, but the disapproval is coming across loud and clear. _"_ _Get your sorry ass to Townsend's in ten or I'm coming to your apartment and shoving food down your throat myself.”_

She hangs up on him.

It's a twenty minute walk, and he really, _really_ doesn't want to take a taxi, but he's spent enough time with Natasha to know that her threats are never empty. She's done it once already, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. Taxi it is.

The thing's definitely seen better days, and worse ones judging by the cigarette burns, slashed seats, and questionable stains. The driver's the typical short-tempered cabbie, and probably couldn't pass a breathalyzer test. Whatever, if he dies on the way there then at least his headache might go away.

Lithuania was a total bitch. He hasn't bothered to change since he got back at three this morning in favor of passing out on the couch for the nicest nap he's ever taken, so the gloves and arm guard aren't really a surprise, but the quiver on his belt is. Huh. Guess he forgot to take that off. Not like anyone even cares in the city anyway, he's hardly the weirdest one out on the streets this late at night.

Like that guy. Seriously, that was gross, he's so not looking out the window again.

Wonder what happened to the collie at the crash site? Name was Cody, right? That was so suspicious, he was definitely up to something. If Chief doesn't send Buddy out on that one, crap's gonna go down.

And if Nat spoils the season finale, there's gonna be an open position at SHIELD for top assassin.

“Um, any reason we're stopped, buddy? No traffic right now, for once in my life.”

The driver swears a blue streak but his general interpretation of it between the “Fuck you, asshole” and “Your mother can #@%*^& and @^*!#” is that the engine's overheated and they're not moving. He checks his watch. Seven minutes 'til, and it's a twelve and a half minute walk.

This is the reason he trained with SHIELD.

One of the quarters in the handful of change he tosses the cabbie hits the guy's arm and the he starts swearing again. Whatever, not his problem, he's got a way bigger issue if he doesn't move. Now.

The door opens a bit quicker than he means it to in the wind, which probably isn't good for it, but eh. He paid for a couple extra miles anyway. There's a fire escape two buildings over and he makes a beeline for it. Metal's cold this time of night but the gloves come in handy and he can't feel the chill as he jumps and catches the railing to haul himself up onto the first platform. A cranky old woman with yellowing hair yells at him for making so much of a racket, because kids these days just have no common decency.

He stops to apologize, mid-step.

What? It's an old lady! He's not Tony Stark!

The rest of the way he's careful to step quietly like a good little assassin.

On the rooftop, though? Open futzing season. See, New York's a nightmarish maze of buildings and alleys and people on their cellphones stopping in the middle of the road to watch a youtube video, but up here where you can see the whole mess it's free and clear. Just requires a little extra skill, that's all.

T-minus six minutes and thirty seven seconds.

Gravel crunches as it's kicked up behind his footsteps. He runs flat-out across the roof, leaping off toward the next building with confidence gained from doing crap like this way too often. When he pushes off, though, a pulled muscle he'd forgotten about makes its protests known and he falls short, barely catching the ledge of a window a few stories down and scraping his knuckles painfully on the brick.

Futz, futz, _futz_ that hurts.

Thankfully the roughness also gives his Converse traction, and he manages to pull himself up and against the window. There's the terrace off to the left, but it's a bit of a long-shot, and jumping back onto the other building to climb up again would be largely unproductive.

Dammit, why does this crap always happen to him?

He's about to try for the terrace when the window opens a crack and a nose peeks through.

“Mister, why're you standin' on the window?”

“Umm-… see, I'm on my way to meet one of my friends for dinner, but I'm running late. Mind if I cut through your place?”

The kid scowls and crosses his arms. “My mom said not to open the door to strangers.”

“Well, first off, this isn't a door. Secondly, I'm an Avenger, and third, you actually listen to your mom?”

“She put me in my room 'cause I didn't do the dishes.”

He nods understandingly. “Dishes suck. Totally get that one.”

After a moment's pause, the window is pulled open with a creak. “Don't tell, 'kay?”

“Nope, no snitching here. Tell you what-” It's a bit of a trick to climb down and into the hallway, but he manages. When he stands he pulls a black arrow out of his quiver and holds it out. “Now you can tell all your friends you helped Hawkeye. Sound good?”

A grin, and the kid takes it.

“You got a way up to the roof?”

“Yeah, if you’re sneaky you can go through the kitchen and go to the elevator in the hall.”

He shoots the kid a wink and a cocky smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’m the sneak-master extraordinaire. Your mom’ll never know.”

Skipping ensuing pomp and circumstance, he unlatches the door silently and makes his way through the apartment. The mom’s in the kitchen on the phone, but he ducks behind the table until her back’s turned and makes a speedy exit. Elevators are too slow so he finds the stairwell at the end of the hall and takes it up to the roof.

Sirens wail in the distance and the city lights, well… twinkling makes them sound pretty. They’re not really pretty, because nothing in a craphole like this is pretty, but they’re not ugly either. At least it’s not some little house on the prairie.

His feet pound against the concrete of the next roof, and this time he accounts for his ankle in the jump. He lands it perfectly, tucked into a neat roll, and keeps running.

The minutes tick down but he doesn’t check the glowing red numbers on his watch since it’ll only take up time he doesn’t have.

Down below, a shriek echoes off the brick.

Aww, he’s not going to…

Futz. Yeah, he’s going to play hero. Dammit.

He clamors down the wall, dropping from window frame to sill until he finally hits the pavement and steps out of the shadows to stare down the three hoodied muggers.

“Let go of the lady,” he calls, crossing his arms and walking towards them with a calm look.

“Oh yeah? Or what?”

“Eh, y’know.” With a shrug, he kicks at the dust that coats the sidewalk. “I’ll punch your face in. Preferably now, though, I’ve kind’a got somewhere to be in… three minutes and eighteen seconds.”

The three of them jeer at him and he takes another step closer.

“Seriously, I’m an Avenger. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

“Pfft. who are you? Iron Fist?”

“Why the hell does everyone always think that?” he asks, catching the guy off-guard with a right hook.

Things descend into a good ol’ fashioned brawl from there, leaving the girl time to grab her purse and run off while he beats the everliving crap out of the muggers. Gangsters, maybe? Whatever, he’s got a mob to deal with as it is, he doesn’t need more drama.

Only now does he check the time:

One minute and three seconds to go.

Crap.

He takes off at a run down the alleyway, nearly careening head-first into some prissy lady with a purse dog when he gets to the main sidewalk, and has to dodge and weave through a group of college kids that have spilled out of a nearby karaoke bar into his way, giggling and daring each other to lick the sidewalk. At this rate, he’s going to be eating a knuckle sandwich. Options, options… he glances up.

Phone line.

Yes.

Not optimal, but it’ll work.

Without further ado he scrambles up the nearest shadowed telephone pole, takes a breath, and carefully picks his way across the block at a slightly faster pace than he had in the nightclub crowd. Just as he’s finally gotten in-sight of Townsend’s, and all-too-familiar voice calls out.

“Barton!”

He freezes in place, the line trembling dangerously under his feet.

“Uh… hey, Cap.”

“Mind telling me why you’re fooling around when you were supposed to be debriefing Fury as soon as possible on your last mission?”

“How in the heck did you even track me down?”

“GPS on your phone.”

Crap, crap, crap… He stares at Steve, sizing him up, and wondering who’ll drag out the inevitable torture longer. Nat’s scary as hell, but Steve’s got all of S.H.I.E.L.D. on his side…

Twenty-seven seconds to go.

Crap.

“Uh, look, Cap, I’m totally gonna go give him the rundown in the morning, but I kind of have to go, like, right now. As in _right now_ right now.”

“Whatever you’re doing can wait, Barton, we need to know if there’s going to be a war or not.”

“Nope, no war, you’re good to go. Asshat’s dead, all’s well that ends well, the whole nine yards. I’m just gonna–”

A shock of red hair appears behind Steve and the most genuine terror of his life wraps its talons around his chest.

 _”Clinton Francis Barton,”_ she growls.

…futz.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That was supposed to be serious and was going to involve AIM; why do you people even let me write short stuff when I do crap like this.
> 
> Have I ever mentioned how much I love Fraction's run with Hawkeye? Because it's brilliant.


End file.
